Grenade
by Osidiano
Summary: Sam/Steve meet cute AU for Day 3 of Samtember 2015. Let it never be said that Sam Wilson is not a good wingman.
Author's Note: I've been to exactly two water parks in my life: Wild Waves outside of Federal Way in Washington, and Schlitterbahn in New Braunfels, Texas. The park in this fic is fictional and based off those.

* * *

 **Grenade**

Water parks were not a thing that Sam Wilson had a lot of experience with. When Riley had suggested going out to one while they were on block leave, he'd thought the other airman was referring to a splash pad for kids, a slab of concrete with jets of water that arced up out of the ground at different intervals. Or maybe a park with a big fountain where they actually let people climb in during the summer. That's what water parks were to someone who'd grown up in New York City.

He hadn't been expecting tube slides and wave pools, amusement park rides and carnival food. Riley laughed at him and shoved a big rubber, yellow swim tube in his hands, pushing him towards a staircase and a line.

"What did y'all _do_ for summer fun?" he asked. The line wound up and up, but moved with a surprising swiftness given the number of people in front of them. Sam rolled his eyes and bounced the tube up the steps in front of him.

"We have beaches!" Sam answered defensively. "And Coney Island if we want to go on rides. There's music festivals and street fairs in all the boroughs and –"

"This here's _river water_ ," Riley interrupted, pointing over the rail at the painted and curved segment of the water slide that could be seen from their spot in line. The water didn't look dirty, per se, but it certainly didn't look like it came from a pool. A woman in a bikini zipped past them, the swim tube she was sitting in spinning slightly as the water pushed her along. She was closely followed by another young woman, who was laughing. Sam pouted and Riley just grinned. "They don't even treat it. You just get in your tube and hang on. There's a waterfall and they got rapids, and the chute's all long and twisty. You're gonna love it."

"Why did I let you talk me into this?" Sam moaned, and Riley, that asshole, didn't even have the decency to look sorry.

* * *

He did love it.

That didn't mean Sam was going to tell Riley he'd been right, though.

* * *

"Sam!" Riley called to him from the edge of the activity pool. They'd been on tube rides and body slides and the fake Congo River Expedition float already. Sam was waist deep in the cool water, his inner tube abandoned near their towels at one of the umbrella-covered tables. At Riley's shout, he came over from where he'd been debating joining a pick up game of pool volleyball, girls versus guys, but didn't haul himself out of the water just yet.

It had been a debate because while Sam really enjoyed pool volleyball, he also enjoyed subtly eye-fucking the star setter on the guys' team, who kept sneaking flirty glances his way. Joining the team would distract him from that, but might give him a better opportunity to talk to the wide-shouldered hunk. Sam liked the way he handled the ball, the spread of his strong hands and the curve of his muscular back when he surged up for a powerful strike; he liked the way the guy tapered down to an almost impossibly slim waist, how he was big and blond and unfairly attractive.

So, yeah. It was a thing that he had to debate.

"What's up?" he asked. Riley had a big stupid smile and a kind of vacant expression on his face. He had been going to grab them lunch, and while Sam could see the hotdogs and drinks on the table, he didn't think Riley's elevated mood was caused by the food.

"Sam," Riley repeated, a little dazed. "Sam, I met a girl."

Of course he had. Sam groaned. "Oh no, here we go again. . ."

"She's, like, she's the most perfect girl ever, oh my god, Sam." They always were, right up until Riley decided that they weren't. None of this was new or even terribly surprising.

"If you ditch me at this water park for a girl, Riley, I'm gonna put pink dye in your shampoo."

"No, man, I wouldn't do that," Riley tried to reassure him, but Sam knew better. They'd been friends for nearly a decade and two combat tours. Sam knew this asshole, and that was _exactly_ the kind of dirtbag thing Riley would do to get laid. He eyed his friend suspiciously until Riley caved, explaining, "See, she's here with a friend, an' I'm here with a friend, so it would make total sense to double up, yeah?"

"A friend," Sam repeated dubiously. Riley gave him his most charming smile, the one specifically reserved for shameless begging and cashing in favors. Sam already knows that he's doomed before Riley even opens his stupid mouth.

"He swings your way."

" _Ugh_ ," Sam groaned again, regretting – for what must have been the nine hundredth time – that he'd ever drunkenly confided in Riley about his bisexuality before Don't Ask, Don't Tell had been repealed. Riley sometimes got it in his head that every gay or bisexual man was Sam's type, and it always turned out to be a mess whenever they got introduced. "What if he's ugly?"

"Sam Wilson," Riley admonished him seriously, brows furrowed and lips pursed. " _She_ is a _goddamn goddess,_ and you are going to do me a solid and jump on that boy like a _fucking grenade_ if you have to. I need you to have my back here, man."

"You're the worst," Sam informed him, but didn't argue the point any further. He'd always had Riley's back, full name scold or no, up in the sky and down here on the ground. Riley had taken a bullet for him in Bakhmala during their last tour, and if all he wanted in return was to make Sam do weird Southern boy nonsense and play wingman so he could strike out with girls who were out of his league, then Sam could live with that.

It didn't mean Riley got to look so damn smug about it, though.

"Man, you _owe_ me," Sam complained and finally dragged himself out of the water to go meet Riley's new girl and her friend after they finished eating.

* * *

To Riley's credit, she _wa_ _s_ a goddamn goddess, all muted too-cool-for-school half-smiles and laughing green eyes. She had perfect curves and wavy red hair and there was this predatory sway to her body that made Sam's brain go a little blank. He wasn't sure if he was turned on or about to experience a fight-or-flight response, which was pretty impressive given that she was at least six inches shorter than he was and only wearing a little black bikini. She shook Sam's hand when he offered it and introduced herself as Natasha.

"Let me get my friend," she said, tilting her chin in the direction of the activity pool. She walked to the edge of the water and called for him, " _Steve_!"

The star setter from the guys' volleyball team looked away from the net, and when he saw Natasha waving him over, tossed the ball to another player with a laugh and waded over. Up close, Sam decided that his jawline was sharp enough to be considered a weapon in probably every State. The blond pulled himself out of the water, his arms flexing obscenely and his sculpted abs dripping in a way that was absolutely criminal.

Sam had never felt so victimized in his entire life. Somebody needed to call the police _immediately_.

"And this is my friend, Steve," Natasha said in a flat tone that was definitely calling attention to the way Sam was struggling to close his mouth. Riley patted Sam's shoulder and nodded in understanding before offering his hand to Steve and introducing them both.

"Nice to meet you," Steve said, and smiled at him like he knew exactly what Sam was thinking; namely, that the two of them needed to ditch their friends in a line somewhere to go fuck in a bathroom _ASAP_ because Steve had ridiculous pornstar lips and would look really pretty on his knees.

* * *

They do.

And he did. God, did Steve look good on his knees, with his lips all used and red and wet, with come on his tongue and his blue eyes dark with lust. Or pressed up against the graffiti'd wall of a bathroom stall with his swims trunks around his knees and his small, tight ass pushed out and legs spread, gasping softly as Sam fingered him. It was fucking _awesome,_ and afterwards, Sam even got Steve's number before they left the water park, which was more than Riley could say about his own attempts to score with Natasha.

"Well, clearly," Riley griped sourly from the driver's seat as they pulled out of the parking lot, " _I'm_ the better wingman."

Sam was in too good a mood to even argue. He just sighed a pleasant hum and texted Steve: **wat r u doing tmrrw?**

 **:)** , came Steve's response, seconds later.


End file.
